Stolen
by SheepAmongstWolves12
Summary: "At the end of the pavement, under a lone street light stands a seventeen year old boy, waiting for something to happen in the navy blue night sky. His eyes dart frantically to the ground, to the shadow that he has cast waiting for a girl he knows may not show up..." Lust. Secrets. Sex. Forbidden Fruit. Stolen Moments. Expectations. Prejudice. Hate. Society. AU.
1. Prologue

_Would Like to say a MASSIVE thank you to** Stacylk** for Beta'ing this for me. Stace, I LOVE YOU! If You Haven't read any of her work, please do. Her Stories, **"Legacy"** and **"The Companion**" are in my Favourites._

_Thanks Again Stace!_

* * *

There's a small, winding road that leads into a solemn, street lit neighbourhood. On it embody the vast estates of the wealthy, renowned and esteemed members of a town that is plagued in colour and secrets, with tightly cut lawns and picket fences. Beyond this boulevard, there is a threshold...an imaginary boundary line that separates the clean, clipped hedges and vivid colours of the suburbs for a darker, more muted place. A place where the cold, clean cut lines are blurred and tarnished for two groups of inhabitants. The invisible ridge between the wild, feral world and that of cosmopolitan, perfect society.

At the end of the pavement, under a lone street light stands a seventeen year old boy, waiting for something to happen in the navy blue night sky. His eyes dart frantically to the ground, to the shadow that he has cast waiting for a girl he knows may not show up.

Inhaling, he tries to calm his nerves, tries to ignore the sweat that is forming between his palms which adamantly refuses to leave, no matter how many times he rubs them on the back of his jeans. The friction of the action not only leaves him anxious, but flushed with anticipation at the thought of her.

He knows that she may not show. The risk outweighs the prize for her, yet he can't forget the twinge of excitement and danger that meeting her entails. His mouth creeps up at the side as his hands dig into the pockets of his fitted jeans; a tailored orange shirt is tucked neatly inside of them, illustrating his chiselled physique and firm arm muscles that aren't grossly toned.

She had once said that she loved how strong he was, how his arms were her castle walls that towered over, that shielded her form the world that they lived in. She wished that one day, she could be strong. Strong enough for the pair of them; to save them from this place.

Strong enough to protect them both from the prejudice of others, not merely because she was from the Seam, but because she was brave enough to call to his house; thing girls rarely did, even if they were from the right side of town.

He thinks of her, he can't stop thinking about her and that's the problem. He thinks of how keeping a secret can be damaging, not only for him, but also for her. He knows that impromptu meetings under the illumination of a lamp post aren't what she deserves. They aren't what he wants either, but he knows the ugly face of prejudice that glares at him like a snake in the long grass, waiting to snap at his ankles, is all too willing to catch them should they try to rebel.

He glides a hand through his slicked hair, hoping that she'll arrive soon.

* * *

The air is crisp; a certain prominent smell of autumn foliage has taken over her senses; the girl strolls from the rugged wasteland of the wilds to a nearby streetlight, fear and anticipation growing with every stride she takes; with each thump of her heart.

Her hair is knotted back into a long plait that hits her repeatedly as she lifts her legs through the high grass. The lights of the boulevard hang ahead in the distance, where she's expecting to meet him. A lone figure comes into view as she treads on silently, aware of the dangers of their meeting so late at night.

She wonders about him; if he is just curious, like so many other men from the refined area of town that she's heard about, or if for once, something in her life is real. Love is by far the most confusing thing in the world to her; an undefined space between what she feels and what is permitted in this place.

His head pops up from the ground, a faint rustling in the nearby hedges interrupts his train of thought as she appears, bits of bracken caught in her long plait as she walks silently over to him, her eyes trained on their surroundings. A smile, a rare action these days crosses his face as she steps towards him, her hands balled up in fists, hanging at her sides, only to soften around his shoulders as his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace.

There are no words spoken, no greetings or any other common salutations. They know that the night will only allocate so much to them, and words just complicate things and waste time. Their meetings under a lamp post at the end of the street never last long enough; they merely serve as a reminder for their relationship, a means that no matter how many times they meet up, it doesn't suffice.

She feels as if there's always more that needs to be said, but she understands the risk that he's taking too. What had he once told her…That what was between them couldn't co- exist with the world that they lived in. That he always would feel this way for her; looking back, he was fortunate for the serendipitous memory of how they first met.

Her eyes find his, her hand ghosting to his hard jawline, relishing in the feel of the tiny roots of stubble that rub roughly against the palm of her hand. He reaches to tuck a strand behind her ear, relishing in the feel of her long, dark tresses and the way that her eyelashes frame those blue- grey eyes, which stare back into his with a burning intensity for more than this.

Her heart thumps a little harder as her hand traces up his face, her long fingers knotting in his golden hair before resting at the junction of his neck where his shoulder meets, his own pulse evident under her fingertips, their eyes still locked together, as their foreheads meet in the space between them.

She thinks that he is the most beautiful thing in the world, not only because of his physical aspects, but because he is the epitome of goodness and strength. He is the light that glows when all other lights have gone out.

His eyes are lost in hers, and the shift of their faces in a fluid movement as he presses his mouth to hers as his arms tighten a little more around her, only encouraging her own fingers to knot in his hair again whilst the other strums the muscles of his back, her fingertips tingling the hard plains as the kiss intensifies.

She loves how his eyelashes bat against her skin as he holds her a little closer, her toes sliding off the ground as his arms hold her up. There's nothing in the moment but the sound or crickets chirping and wood pigeons nesting in the nearby trees.

She feels his heartbeat through her thin shirt and wonders if he can hear how loud hers is as it rings through her ears, as a sense of warmth rushes through the pair of them. With wild abandon her tongue presses to his bottom lip and the teasing invitation is more than he can stand as his tongue glides over hers.

She loves this rush of electricity that passes through her body, which leaves her both breathless but wanting more. His kisses set her on fire and she fights his tongue with her own, before kissing him squarely on the mouth again.

He pulls away slowly, savouring the taste of her lips before cupping her face with his hands. The danger is obvious, but his guard has been let down considerably in the past few moments. He looks at her before holding her close and speaking quietly into her ear.

"They'll find us one day, you know, maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day…"

Her eyes are deep and pensive as she looks into his, her hand holding his, her head lying against his chest, her eyes looking over his shoulder. She breathes in deeply, before mumbling quietly into his chest.

"Don't worry…tomorrow may never come"

They stand there for a while, holding each other for a bit before she slips away from him first, her hands gradually slipping from his until the tips of their fingers brush and the feeling of electricity leaves their bodies as they part ways.

Somewhere in the pitch black night, a girl and a boy disappear from the corner, walking in separate directions, slipping away from each other and back into the two different worlds that they belong to.

It's only when she gets home to her small house in the Seam that she wishes she could be enough for him so that he wouldn't have to hide anymore.

Similarly, when his head hits the pillow and he catches a glimpse of the stars shining, he's reminded of her, and how she shines, in a different place, in a different sky. He only wishes she could be his; that she could shine in his sky…


	2. Chapter 1

_I'm amazed at the amount of people interested in this story…I really am grateful to everyone who's flagged or reviewed this story. Thank you:) I'm going back to college soon, so updates may be slower, but chapters will hopefully be longer to make up for this. Again, I'd like to thank my amazing beta, __**Stacylk,**__ for her patience and time given to muddle through the workings of my mind…It's mad in there: D _

_**Disclaimer:**__I do not own the characters, story, or have any ownership of the Hunger Games, nor do I profit from any such activities with regard to my writings on Fan Fiction and/or other Hunger Games related sites. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

He wakes up to harsh light hitting him in the face, as he tries to cling desperately to the remaining moments of sleep before that is stolen from him too. Too often it seems that he never has enough time when it comes to the things that matter most. His own desires seem to be cast away for the sake of pretence and expectations of his parents and their legacy rather than his own, independent longings. It seems that more is never enough and he wonders if this makes him greedy or even selfish with want.

A hand glides through his hair as he lifts himself from the covers, relishing in the last caresses that the silk has against his skin. His eyes shut for a moment, savouring the darkness as his vision adjusts to the bright, garish colours that surround him. Aqua marine coloured walls surround him, with chests of walnut placed in strategic areas that harbour his clothes.

Nothing in the room is remotely significant or reflects a single aspect of his personality. Nothing is his. It's all fabricated a charade that has become a life that he detests. A shell of who he really is, of who he wants to be.

Kicking off the covers, his feet touch the fluffy carpet; he saunters over to the wardrobe, plucking a shirt and a pair of pants that co- ordinate, effortlessly changing. Good fashion taste is imperative in this world; his parents had said that it defined who you are and where you stood in life. As a Mellark, he was part of the upper circle of society and that meant that he didn't follow others, but rather set the standards for the rest of town.

Staring into the floor length mirror, he looks at himself, unsure if there's anything real about him anymore. Everything about his life seems to be fashioned in such a way that it's suffocating him. The large, ostentatious house is too large for him and his family, a reminder that one day, he too will inherit it all, being the only child of Carberry and Rye Mellark. Everything seems to be a hyper- reality. Everything apart from her.

He detests this life he leads, this falsehood that society forces upon him. A place where nobody understands his plight or acknowledges how skilfully he tries to fit in with the norms of society. He wonders about the possibility of a life where he could make his parents proud of his choices; proud of him for being different.

With that thought, his eyes steal a glance out of the large windows, the white drapes blowing gently against him as he steps out onto the small balcony, looking out into the woods that sit nearby in the distance.

He thinks of the great divide that exists between the town and that of the Seam and a jolt of sickness coils in his stomach at the thoughts of countless women who have sacrificed their lives and to some degree, their sanity even, in producing heirs for the wealthy and extravagant citizens of town.

Another look out of the window, through dishevelled blonde hair and clouded blue eyes makes his mind drifts to the Seam once again. But this time, it's a person that comes to mind; a girl with a bow and a long plait that whips around her back as she sprints after deer and other wildlife in the wilderness.

He saw her once, by accident on a drizzling Sunday afternoon when his wrestling competition was cancelled due to the weather. It was from this spot on the balcony that he watched her in the nearby field, stalking a large buck at the edge of the forest, under the cover of the surrounding trees.

It was then, when he saw her, he knew that he could never conform to society's norms. He knew that he couldn't date someone at his private school or want the life that his parents had sought for him. What he did know was that he wanted her.

Regardless of consequence or prejudice or anything else, he was certain of that.

In a matter of minutes, his maid will arrive, no doubt to ensure that he gets up for breakfast with his parents; a ritual that has occurred since he was a little boy. He withdraws from the balcony just as Joss knocks politely before opening his bedroom door, her grey eyes and darkened hair different from that of the other maids in his neighbour's houses.

"Peeta? Are you ready for breakfast?" her voice is cheerful and her eyes light up at the sight of him.

His eyes find hers and a smile creeps its way onto his face, the action always occurs whenever she's around.

"Mornin' Joss" he says his voice husky, the beginnings of a cold taking hold of his throat.

"Peeeta! Are you awake?!"

Both Peeta and Joss stand in the doorway, listening to the shrill high pitched voice of Carberry calling impatiently from the kitchen.

Joss scurries out of his room, waiting for him on the landing with candy coloured walls and photographs that plague the way down the large, winding staircase. Photographs of him as a baby, the first day they brought him home from the surrogate, their first Christmas as a family, Peeta's first day at school.

The last few pictures are more recent, the family stands together, each parent standing behind Peeta with one hand on either side of his shoulders. All three men are smiling, yet there's falseness behind the Capitol white smiles and designer clothing. Peeta looks at himself and wonders what a family used to be like.

He's read it often enough in history class, that families were traditionally composed of men and women as parents and children were born as a result of love between the male and female. But that was before the Dark Days…the days that equality and prejudice were the opposite sides of the same coin and relationships such as his parents were not considered the norm.

He reaches the end of the staircase and the dark haired Seam girl comes back into his mind as he sits down at the top of the table, both of his fathers on either side of him as they repeat the morning ritual over and over again.

"Good morning son" says Rye and Carberry Mellark in unison; two sets of eyes and bright white smiles looking in his direction.

He lifts his head up and responds to both of them with the same phrase, brushing the hair out of his face.

Solemnly, he looks at both of them before replying "Hello Dad".

* * *

In a small house, somewhere in the Seam region, the girl with the bow wakes with a start.


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks as always to you guys. You're Amazing! Also to **_Stacylk_**for being an awesome Beta.

* * *

There's screaming.

Loud, blood curdling screaming that wakes her from an otherwise restless slumber. The thin mattress lets her body sink a little more as her eyes dart open, immediately narrowing so that her peripheral vision picks up her surroundings and the imminent threat of danger. Her hand grasps at the bow, an arrow rests in the quiver not a foot away from her bed. Before any conscious thought or decision has been made by her brain, her body has already responded and treads with bare feet on the cold ground in only a scarce nightshirt, bow and arrows ready for battle.

Her hands are calloused, the skin stretching barely over, the whites of her knuckles showing through, rough and torn in places from wear. A faded white line stretches across her ring finger; perhaps an ironic metaphor that marriage for her will never happen, not in the world that she lives in. Her right hand stays the arrow, keeping her strength for when she may need a rally of them and a burst of energy to shoot them at the invader.

The screaming stops abruptly, but she's not willing to leave the thought of a threat without investigating it. Deftly, she creeps, like a leaf on an October day when it's twirling in a gentle breeze, she is both silent and fast, a dangerous combination for the monsters that threaten her in the woods. And for the monster that threatens her family now.

The whitewashed walls of the hallway are a poor compromise to that of the painted mansions that the wealthier members of society dwell in. In the Seam, they were lucky to even own their own home, never mind have the luxury of having such exquisite furnishings, but that had come at a price.

The screaming starts again, even louder and more chilling than before.

She enters what is her sister's room, only to find her blonde hair thrashing wildly around as she screams, trying to fight off whatever monsters her mind has created. The bow immediately clatters to the ground, the quiver following them as she rushes to the single framed bed.

Her fingers find their way into Prim's hair, soothing and straightening it, as the smaller girl wakes up to reality, her hands clutching for the older girl to hold her closer to her chest.

Her voice is hoarse from screaming as a quiet, strained sentence comes out of her mouth.

"It was me…it was me"

Gently rocking her to and forth, the elder girl calms her trembling limbs, looking for some sort of relief for the quivering mess that is her sister. She presses a kiss into her blonde hairline as she whispers quietly into her ear.

"But it's not you, it's not you. You're still here, with me and mom. You're only thirteen Prim, you haven't started yet. You're safe."

The little girl's body seems to shake a little more and muffled sobs are wept into her sister's chest.

The darker haired girl looks down at the sheet that her sister has slept on, noticing the now vivid red stain of blood that coats the bedclothes. Her eyes dart back to her younger sister; a child that is cradled in her arms, an infant, barely aware of what being a woman in the world they live in entails.

This was the day that Katniss Everdeen had feared since her sister was six years old.

Today was Reaping day, the one day when the entire female population of the Seam was forcibly removed from their homes. Grandmothers, daughters, nieces, sisters and cousins were all herded like cattle from their houses to the community hall by the Capitol appointed guardians in order to survey the availability of fertile surrogates for the worthy, wealthy citizens of Panem, who couldn't have children.

Traditionally, the wealthier, aristocratic members of each District followed the norm of the Capitol when it came to relationships. They were another trend that had filtered out to the Districts, where homosexual couples were the standard. The norm for the peasants that inhabited the Districts were heterosexual relationships, yet they had to make ends meet by working on the large plantations and estates of the wealthy higher orders.

Often, families didn't make ends meet in poorer areas, such as the Seam in District 12, where having children wasn't seen as a joy, but rather a burden; another mouth to feed on already scarce resources.

Throughout the Districts, there had been an upsurge for equality within the lower classes throughout the ages, which had resulted in a rebellion. Yet with the rebellion came consequences and as a result, the majority of the male population in the lower classes had ultimately been killed in retaliation.

As another concession of forgiveness towards the Capitol for ending the "Dark Days", and as punishment for the uprising and threat to authority, reapings had occurred year after year.

The reapings were meant to signify the forgiveness of the Capitol for the revolt of the Districts, yet they symbolised such a darker time for the inhabitants of the Seam region in District 12.

The older girl holds her sister, wondering how her mother had been reaped on numerous occasions to carry children for endless couples in town. Katniss recalled how broken her mother had been after the loss of her father in the rebellion; how lifeless she had become at the thought of carrying a child that wasn't biologically hers.

A child that was created out of selfish desire. A parasite that had been placed inside of her, draining her life force, without any link or tie to her. An invader, a leech, a cuckoo in her womb, pushing out the memories of her previous pregnancies until she became a fragile shell of the woman that she once was; weak, lifeless, dead in all but name.

By law, the parents of the surrogated child had to pay a fee towards the upkeep of the mother that harboured their unborn child. Whilst this money had put tesserae grain and oil on the table, the majority had been invested in the smaller girl's education, in the hope that once she became a doctor or a nurse, she could break out of the Seam, thus avoiding the reapings forever.

The effect of carrying numerous children that didn't have any biological tie to her had taken its toll upon Neassa Everdeen. Not only had her body been abused for the good of the rich and esteemed, her mind had never recovered from the loss of her husband and the thoughts of being used as a communal carrier for so many years had finally broken her.

Year after year, the young girls watched as their mother crippled under a new pregnancy, each tougher than the last. She often lay in bed, not uttering a single word, just staring at the ceiling in an endless fashion, slowly slipping into madness.

The pregnancies had also taken their toll on her daughters, the last remaining link to her husband. The elder, darker haired girl had adopted the roll of mother to her younger sibling, as well as relying on herself to keep bread on the table by hunting illegally in the woods that separated her home in the Seam from the richer part of town, where the merchants lived.

And now, at the tender age of thirteen, Prim had finally entered into that grey, grim area where her childhood had been taken from her in a cruel twist of fate. Her big sister had promised herself, especially since their father's death and their mother's subsequent spiral into depression that she would keep Prim safe no matter what the consequences. This had left the elder Everdeen to grow up long before her childhood was over. Ultimately, Katniss had adopted the role that her mother could no longer fill in Prim's life.

She realised that, it wasn't just herself that she needed to protect anymore. Prim was the one pure, innocent reminder of hope for her. To think that she could lose her to a rich couple who lacked the required essentials for children or simply didn't want to go through the laborious process for nine months sent a chill through her. The thought that her sister, a child in the eyes of everyone else, could be plucked from the crowd and put on display as just an utensil in this fabricated charade was hard. Yet today, on her first Reaping, she knew deep in her heart that there was absolutely nothing that she could do to stop the cruelties of the Capitol should Prim be reaped.

Clutching her even closer to her chest, the older girl stared blankly out the small window, wondering how to keep her sister safe should the worst happen. The smaller girl's whimpers cease, and her sobs become quiet as her body relaxes against her sister's. Nothing but realisation and tension filled the silence between them, before words disrupted the peace.

"I've gotta go. I'll be back soon. You just try and get yourself cleaned up and go to sleep in my room. I'll take care of this when I get back, okay?"

The little girl nods breaking away from her sister's embrace as her feet hit the stony ground, accustoming to the cold hard floor as she slips out of the room quietly.

The older girl's eyes drift to the blood stained sheet once more, hoping that it's just a trick that her eyes are playing on her or something, yet it's too real; too vivid, the scarlet colour imprinted on her memory. The colour that she's come to associate with death and blood from the animals she's killed. The colour that symbolises the loss of life, the dimming of hope.

In the silence, she picks up her quiver and bow, before changing into attire suitable for hunting. Her brown pants, boots and hunting jacket are not only vital aids in comfort, but also in camouflage; a technique her father had taught her when he was alive.

Her nostrils flare at the smell of rain water seeping through a small leak in the roof, methodically splashing an angry feline with a fierce set of yellow eyes. Buttercup continues to hiss at her as if she is the reason for his unexpected bath and Prim's nightmare, as she tightens the muscles in her face gently, before releasing them.

* * *

Deftly, she creeps along the edge of the Seam, to the unofficial barrier that separates her territory from that of the town. A light rain catches her plaited hair and beads of water stick to her scalp mercilessly as she tracks a doe to a small clearing; being careful not to breathe through her mouth.

She can't get the thoughts of the Reaping out of her head. The destruction, the brutality, the sheer oppression that sits on her shoulders, like a heavy load that she can't shake off. It's only when the wind blows that she's aware of her scent being carried towards the clearing, alerting the doe of her presence. The rage finally consumes her; an intense hatred and loathing of the merchants for wanting children.

Hatred for the Capitol and their devious games that served as a cruel punishment when equal rights were fought for. The reapings that brought nothing but pain and suffering to the women of the Seam; reminding them every year that the only children they could ever have would never truly be theirs. For Prim, for her loss of innocence and beauty that would be sheared away from her in a split second should the Capitol take her.

The girl with the bow snaps back into reality, a split second before the doe realises she's there.

Her arrow cuts through the air, twirling at a rate so fast that it doesn't appear to be moving. That is, until a sharp thud lodges it right in the doe's eye and the majestic creature falls to the ground in a dead, lifeless heap.

It's only then that the restlessness inside of her heart ceases, only to be filled with a new, deeper sense of dread as a pool of blood seeps out of the fallen animal's eye, staining the forest floor.

Blood. The life force of everything on the planet, all living things inextricably linked through it. Families, brothers, sisters, sharing the same components that make them who they are. Thicker than water, protective, caring, nurturing.

She had murdered and spilled blood on many occasions, but all for the greater good of survival.

Kneeling down beside the doe, Katniss Everdeen vowed herself to spill as much blood of the Capitol if it promised her sister's survival.

Even if she sacrificed her own.


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_

_I'm back in college, so this has taken a while… but it's worth it, I think._

_**I want to say that the subject of this story is purely fictional and I am not homophobic.**_

_One of my closest friends was gay and I loved him like my brother._

_Also, the issues of surrogacy/ adoption being a bad thing, it is purely to illustrate the corrupt nature of the world that the characters live in._

_People say that this story is a lot like a book called "A Handmaiden's Tale"… I had never heard of this novel until it was mentioned in a review. I do not know what it's about, or how similar this story is in comparison. I would just like to point out that if it does mirror that text in some manner, the plagiarism is not intended, or known, and I apologise profusely._

_I also do not own any of the characters from the Hunger Games, I merely borrow them and stick them in my own ramblings._

_Thanks to __**Stacylk**__ for beta'ing this for me…. YOU ARE A GREAT HELP AND I LOVE YOU FOR YOUR AWESOME COMMENTARY…"ravage me Peeta" being my favourite!_

_Love ya big sis!_

* * *

His eyes flee to the window as his parents discuss the mundane; idle gossip about the neighbours, secret affairs and public divorces, embezzlement and deceit amongst the high flyers in town, what colour drapes would best suit the parlour now that it's been re-decorated.

He sighs and continues to stare; endlessly wishing that he was out there with her in the wilderness, looking for a life away from the grotesque and false pretences that belong to the world of his parents. The porridge that he's eaten threatens to make a return when he thinks about today and the "significance" of it for his parents.

He knows that today, many young girls will face the Reaping and become "suitable" candidates for carrying the next generation. Year after year he has witnessed the abhorrent glint that catches in Carberry's eye as he surveys the victims, searching for the perfect genetic figure, whose traits will correspond with his to make a desirable child.

An ache hits him squarely in the chest at the thought of young girls, barely even teenagers being forced to carry children for the selfish want of people like his parents. Girls with feeble little bodies on wary , stick –thin legs, unsteady without the extra weight that accompanies pregnancy , brutally taken and inserted with the genes of the parents to create a perfect individual.

Then the ache hits him again, only harder this time. He was conceived this way, for nine months, a surrogate carried him, looked after him, fed him, housed him, cared for him, loved him even; only to have him torn away from her and given to someone else.

The thought of the selection process ties his stomach in knots, and it takes everything inside of him to hold back the bile that threatens to escape out of his mouth in disgust.

Seventeen years ago, they had taken in a widow from the Seam who had stayed in the house for a year whilst she carried and nursed Peeta. The Mellarks had agreed that Rye would be the first to choose and so, Peeta had entered the world carrying his father's characteristic blue eyes and the surrogate's blonde hair.

He's often wondered about her, who she is, if she's still alive, if she can remember him at all, but these questions have never been answered by his parents, in conjuncture with the laws regarding the surrogate's privacy.

Joss has been his main source of information, a non-judgemental figure who has answered his every thought when his parents didn't, yet she too never knew who the woman that carried him was, or even if she was still alive.

Every year, without fail, the Mellarks attended the Reaping, and every year, Peeta's prayers have been answered and a young girl has been spared the terrifying task of becoming the Mellark's surrogate, leaving him as an only child until the next Reaping in twelve months' time.

Yet the relentless nature of Carberry, wanting a child of his own was insatiable. His need to have a miniature figure of himself, with matching blonde hair and brown eyes often led to argument with his partner and neglect for the son that was his in name but nothing else.

He's never known a life outside of cleanliness; doesn't know what it means to be dirty, to go a day without washing or a month without a haircut. He doesn't know hunger either, whether it is for food or any material goods, his parents have always provided. Yet when he thinks of her, the girl from the Seam and her fate, similar to that of the woman who carried him, a part of him feels missing; incongruent even.

For the first time in his life, Peeta Mellark hungers for something that he knows he may never have: a normal family, like the ones he's read about in the history books at school. Yet to talk about such a thing could be punishable by death should the Peacekeepers of the District find out.

Heterosexual couples were frowned upon and strictly prohibited since the rebellion during the Dark Days. Although, in the Seam, some men and women co- habited together, yet for others, the pain of the Reapings and the uncertainty of the female's prospect of being reaped as a surrogate had left many women alone.

Madge had told him of grotesque images of young girls being inseminated in cold, dark clinics by brutal and careless doctors. She said that that their surrogate was still a child by the time she was reaped by her parents to carry her baby brother, Jackyl .

She had told him that there's always checks and tests carried out on the surrogates as the pregnancies have a high risk of failure, be it the mother's inability to carry a child due to her body being underdeveloped, or her internal organs barely able to support her own feeble body, never mind the increasing weight of a growing child.

Last year, the Undersees' had attempted for a third child, yet it had ended traumatically with neither the mother nor the infant surviving.

The thought of the girl with the bow, her long hair hitting her back repeatedly as she chases after a deer crosses his mind frequently. Did she lose someone in that repercussion all those years ago?

It all becomes too much for him, these thoughts, these greedy, selfish thoughts that people like his parents have, the lives that they've destroyed for the sake of wanting a child, a child that by the nature of their relationship, is biologically impossible.

He vows to himself not to have children; not to live in a world where children are not created out of love and through the exploitation of the young and oppressed.

"Peeta…?! Peeta darling!"

His hair sways a little to the side, dishevelled as he comes back to reality, breaking temporarily from the thoughts of today as Carberry's shrill voice hurts his ears yet again, piercing the silence that encapsulates the three of them.

He looks up, feigning interest in his father, his eyes blinking rapidly in the process.

"Peeta! Are you in there?Hello?!" Carberry punctuates, tipping either side of his head with his fingers after each word, wanting his attention.

"Dad,enough!" He cries, pushing his father's hands away.

"Are you excited Peeta?! I'm going to have a little boy of my own, a little brother for you to play with and look after! The final instalment to our perfect family! Oh I must call Don and book him; no doubt we'll have to have the baby installed in the family portrait! Now, Rye, I know…"

He drowns out the sounds of Carberry and Rye nattering away about carpets and furniture.

A flutter seeps into the bottom of his stomach and the girl with the bow crosses his mind again with uncertainty attached to her fate.

Whatever it is that makes her different never fails to entice him in, like a spider that traps a fly in its web.

Peeta doesn't even know her name, but that doesn't matter, he feels for her, admires her and longs for her although he knows he shouldn't.

* * *

A startled flock of mockingjays flee from the clearing as she pulls on the rope that's fastened to the long, slender legs of the doe, her hunting bag full with the medicinal herbs and plants for Prim to practice with in her homemade remedies and concoctions. Four wild turkeys hang from her belt, rhythmically brushing and banging against her thighs as she trudges through the thick brush of the clearing.

A clamour of noise interrupts her thoughts, the rope immediately slips from her nimble fingers and she drops to the ground in blind panic.

Scrambling to the nearby scrub for coverage, she makes sure that she's hidden completely.

Any minute a Capitol hovercraft could appear out of the sky, invisible and deadly. Disappearances were few and far between in the Seam; the people knew better, and were perhaps too broken to fight or retaliate against the Capitol. After the uproar of the Dark Days, there had been an unspoken consensus throughout Panem; too much blood had been spilled and at too great a loss to make the end justify the means, and so the tyranny and injustice of the Reapings had doomed the lives of many young girls, their fates sealed away before they were even born.

They could turn her into a mute, severing her tongue, preventing her from all capable manner of speech, or worse. Death would be the easier option, yet the brutality of President Snow would never let the end come. They'd torture her, make it seem that the only escape or feasible option would be to die; to cease to exist. Or they would leave her in a cell to rot in the Capitol, selling her to the highest bidder, not as a surrogate, but as a mere prostitute, exploiting her, degrading her, dismantling her person until all that would be left was her fundamental reason to exist: to pro- create.

That her existence and sex condemns her very life, without choice or explanation.

The girl with the bow watches the sky as the thunderous sound of the invisible hovercraft passes overhead, scattering the doe's corpse with the autumn foliage.

The new crop of children will all be born in early May this year she thinks, counting the months of her fingers, the dirt caked under her already bitten nails; jagged and uneven.

If all the available surrogates are not wanted by the merchants, another reaping will probably be held in the next four months if there's a greater desire for children in winter. It's a never ending process, an endless reminder to ensure that they never forget their place in society.

* * *

But she can't forget.

Her father was taken in repentance for the Dark Days. The memories of that cold winter night still haunts her dreams from time to time, not as frequently as they had when she was younger, but from time to time, they flood her vision. The Reapings had been in place for five years by this time, as a warning to the rebels that if they gave themselves up, the Reapings would stop.

Five years had passed, and gradually, the Capitol had made its way around Panem, executing the entire male population randomly, some 'freak accidents' like the large tidal wave that drowned the men of District Four or the logging accident that killed the men of District Seven.

She had watched how he had come back from working in the mines that day. The way the leather gloves he had worn were scratched and ripped in places from years of wear and damage. His broad shoulders, big and rounded, with specks of blue bruises in awkward places; she'd presumed that the lack of light and cramped space of the underground had caused theses unusual injuries.

He'd been called out after dark, another unusual occurrence.

The memory of him being hoarded into a formation in the Seam, standing beside his best friend, Seanan Hawthorne. Katniss lost herself as she recalled how her best friend, Gale had come over to hold her hand, because that's what best friends do; they look after each other and hold each other's hands when they get worried.

Peacekeepers came, holding what seemed like a large shower curtain, stretching around the men, covering them entirely, until only their silhouettes were visible through the material before hammering it securely to the ground.

The men shuffled around, irritable and annoyed. Tired and wondering why they were called out so late at night when there was work for them to go to in the morning.

She hold Gale's hand a little tighter, feels the sweat from her worrying coat both of their palms, as what seemed to be large vats of water are pumped into the enclosure that surrounds the men.

She squeezes Gale's hand until he physically pulls her into a hug, her head facing away from the carnage of the enclosure as the Seam fills with the shrieks and cries of the men as the vapour washes over them.

Gale had held her to his chest, a mere two years older than her and already a man, a comforter in his own way. She had turned around to find her mother and Hazelle Hawthorne running towards the curtain, followed by numerous other wives, screaming to their husbands, only to run into the unbreakable barrier of heavily armed Peacekeepers.

She remembered her mother calling loudly to him as a Peacekeeper had grabbed her shoulders, pinning her back from the barrier.

She still hears the words as clear as if they were spoken in her ear.

" THOM! THOOM!"

Her mother and father's last words to each other, forever imprinted in their daughter's mind.

"NEASS! NEASS! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU KATNISS! NEVER FORGET!"

Gradually, the screams that had filled the night sky had ceased, until there was nothing but the faint lull as the bodies hit the floor, motionless and still before the Peacekeepers restrained the women and cornered off the area where they had massacred the men.

The night was filled with the sounds of her heavily pregnant mother and Hazelle Hawthorne, weeping bitterly at the loss of their husbands as Gale and Katniss held each other whilst they slept in the same bed, comforting each other through their tears with tights hugs and cuddles.

Two days later, Primrose Everdeen had entered the world, and whilst she was still alive medically, Neassa had descended into this unknown grey expanse, a half- life, one that had overcome her so much as to neglect and her young daughters.

The smell of acid, fused with coal dust had never left the district since.

* * *

The hovercraft lands in the distance, obviously carrying the necessary provisions for the Reaping to the Justice Building and the extra Peacekeepers needed to control the onslaught of the crowds during the process.

Yet the Capitol also needs children… children to make their own, desired brats by stealing the youth and innocence of the Districts. They needed the most well-bred and beautiful girls to carry their 'privileged' and 'noble' heirs; the future of Panem, a generation that would continue to keep the inferior districts that surrounded them in complete oppression.

She scrambles frantically away from the scrub of a bush once the danger has passed, dragging the doe from underneath it's blanket of golden coloured leaves, shedding them as she moves through the green of the forest. Shrugging the thoughts that her sister may be reaped. Forgetting, if only temporarily, the loss of her father; the lack of a masculine presence in her family's life for so long.

She returns to find Prim preened and cleaned up, a slight flush of colour hinting at her cheeks, her hair braided in an elaborate style whilst a plain white dress clings to her boyish frame.

"You look beautiful little Duck. Are you okay from this morning?" she whispers, saving the embarrassment of her little sister's bleeding from her mother.

Neassa watches the interaction between her two daughters, saying nothing, but staring at them with lifeless, dead eyes.

"I've laid something out for you too" her voice is quiet, like a timid child that's been told to sit in the corner after being naughty.

She looks from Prim to her older daughter before retreating back to her bedroom, her eyes inhabiting that horrible glaze that separates her from reality and her own dream like state.

She won't follow them today; she never has since her own Reapings, leaving Katniss to face the harshness all by herself. It had angered her, driven her crazy that her mother, her only parent, the last remaining link to her father was only half alive and unable to be there for her or for Prim.

She changes quickly, slipping on the faint blue garment, bringing her hair to the side so that she can plait it before up styling it for a change before the shrill cry of the siren calls them to the Justice building.

Prim clutches her hand, similar to the way she had when she was younger when her mother cried and screamed endlessly into the night.

They line-up accordingly, waiting to be processed by the Peacekeepers who prick their fingers, ensuring that the girls are of age to breed, before crossing the courtyard towards the neat segments of females of all different ages, standing in unison on the dusty ground, under the blinding midday sun.

Prim lets go of her hand, her body trembling.

"Ssh…Ssh! Prim it's gonna be okay, just go line up with the little kids and I'll come find you, okay?"

Her blonde head bobs in acknowledgement as she turns to find a friend and join her segment.

The Treaty of Treason is read as nerves heighten between the ranks before the Capitol representative, a ridiculously dressed woman with purple hair presents herself as Effie Trinket.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome, ladies! We are so very grateful to have you here! Oh I just love the Reapings! So! In order to access you accurately, and to make sure that everyone has a shot at becoming a surrogate, we have entered the most fertile candidates into the draw several times. These will be young women from the ages of sixteen to twenty three. All other segments will be entered once to compensate for future Reapings within the year. Now! The moment is upon us, to select twenty prime, young women for the honour of carrying the children of the merchant quarters. Let's begin!"

The thought of blood threatens her insides to throw up, yet the reassurance that Prim will not be entered more than once keeps the bile down.

_Prim will be safe, even if Katniss herself is reaped to carry a leech for the merchants._

Effie's long fingers reach into an enormous glass bowl, filled with thousands of slips of paper.

Numerous names are called out; none of them mean that much to her, they're just an endless list of young girls whose innocence will be shattered through no dictation of their own.

Nineteen girls pass through, climbing up onto the stage to go to the waiting area inside the Justice building where the merchants will inspect them like cattle fit for the slaughter before being auctioned off for a high price.

Just when she thinks it's safe to breathe again, the one thing that fractures her world into a million pieces comes true.

"Primrose Everdeen!" cries Effie, triumphant and confident in the last member of the Reaping.

The world turns quiet and spins in slow motion as Katniss fights her way through, trying desperately to fight off the Peacekeeper before she slips away for good.

She had promised herself to protect Prim and had subsequently failed.

* * *

He takes his seat alongside his parents in the viewing hall, the consistent loud chatter of the crowd.

A pang of guilt and disgust courses through him as the cold plastic of the chair hits his back.

A barrage of girls, ranging in age shuffle across the front of the room, each holding a number on a white card with a large black number on it. He can't get over how fragile they are, how vulnerable they are to the selfish and greedy eyes of the merchants who see them as nothing more than breeding mammals.

A man by the name of Caesar Flickerman stands at a large wooden podium, a carved gavel in his hand, ready to start auctioning off the line of girls.

"What a good crop of recruits this year, eh Rye? So much variety, I'm spoilt for choice!" squeals Carberry, his hands knotting together in order to contain his obvious delight.

Rye looks at him with a wide smile, his delight equally matched like that of his husbands.

Peeta's stomach churns into a tight, painful knot.

The entire thing is nothing but a sick joke to them, a means of making a little bastard of their own that will grow up only knowing half of its identity, until it's faced to go off, marry and pick out a surrogate to help create a little virgin replica of themselves and live happily ever after.

Caesar waves his arm, indicating for the crowd to hush and to let auction commence.

He can feel the tension in the air, as the bidding begins, the injustice of it all, the trafficking of these poor girls into nothing more than slavery for nine months is exactly what is about to happen.

"Welcome, welcome, one and all! I'm sure you're very excited to see this year's surrogacy tributes from the Seam region of District 12! A few conditions before the bidding begins! Only one surrogate may be reaped per couple. Once a surrogate is reaped, there is no change of mind facility available, so please choose and bid wisely. Bidding will start at the according fee of …."

Peeta tunes out, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense.

A number of girls walk the expanse of the stage, some staggering with nerves, others staggering from lack of strength, twirling at the end so that the prospective parents can view their surrogate, deciding what sort of physical traits they want in order to create a child.

Many girls pass, some so emaciated, that he knows for sure that they won't survive the ordeal of the pregnancies. Madge had confirmed that the sheer toll of carrying a child in the womb was a painful and strained process, only made tougher by the surrogate being weak herself.

Carberry surveys the girls like a lion looks upon its prey, waiting for the ultimate moment to strike.

A small gasp escapes his mouth when he sees a small, doll- like girl, her eyelashes long and fluttering like the wings of a butterfly as she walks cautiously towards where the Mellarks are sitting.

"Oh…" breathes Carberry, a sigh omitting from his pink lips.

Peeta knows that this is the one; that this poor little soul will be the surrogate, her blonde hair and blue eyes, genetics that are desirable to prospective parents.

"And now, the last available surrogate! Newly developed and at the tender age of thirteen, she's has a lot of potential for the future! Not to mention a natural beauty, with a kind, docile nature. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Primrose Everdeen! Shall we start the bidding?" calls Caesar, his voice triumphant.

The speed that Carberry's arm shoots up is unnatural, inhumane even. A reaction that should never occur.

Yes sir! I have an offer! Thank you! Will there be a higher bid for this little blonde specimen other than the gentleman in the corner?" Caesar beams, his arm with the gavel swaying frantically.

Another arm shoots up, a challenger, raising the bid.

It's a persistent battle, and Peeta knows that Carberry is relentless; not stopping until he achieves what he set out to get.

The crowd lets out a communal sigh at the back and forth motions of the bidding, until only one victor remains.

Carberry beams at Rye, before hugging Peeta tightly.

Unrest settles in his chest, as he breaks from his father's clutches, feeling nothing but empathy and loss for the blonde girl who is escorted to their seats, her eyes large and filled with worry.

Suddenly, the murmurs of the viewing hall are interrupted by shouts and screams from the back, as a dark haired girl bursts through, screaming at the top of her lungs, the merchants silenced.

Peacekeepers immediately grasp her arms, dragging her away from the viewing hall as she continues to struggle profusely, her heels digging into the ground before breaking away.

"PRIM! PRRIM! I'LL DO IT, NO! I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!"

Peeta's head whips around in disbelief as she runs directly towards him, her hair falling down around her shoulders and lower back.

It's only then that he realises the connection.

The surrogate that Carberry has chosen is Primrose Everdeen, sister of the girl that he has admired from afar.

Katniss Everdeen.

The girl with the bow is about to make the ultimate sacrifice, all in the act of love for her sister.

And Peeta can do nothing but stare as she clings to Prim, holding her, shielding her, giving up her life for her sister's innocence.

Carberry shrieks as he and the rest of his family are escorted from the viewing hall to a separate room, the Everdeen sisters following swiftly after Peeta…


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_

Updates will be every 3-4 weeks….College is a drag:/

_Rated M for dark subject matter in general._

_You've been warned :)_

_Enjoy!_

_Italics are used when Katniss/ Peeta speak internally to themselves….._

_Major thanks to __**Stacylk**__! She's the best and works her ass off even when sick!_

_Love you!_

* * *

She keeps Prim close to her, fearing that she may vanish or be snatched by the blonde haired man with wicked brown eyes.

This has never happened in a Reaping before; the threat of death had been too great for the women of the districts, with their husbands, boyfriends, fathers, sons and brothers had perished in that 'accident' all those years ago. A jolt of anxiety rips through her, realisation of what she has done finally sets in.

She's openly defied them.

She's volunteered to carry a child that she never wants.

She's put everyone she loves on the firing line.

All to save her, to save Prim.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" shrieks the smaller man with the blonde hair and brown eyes, spinning around rapidly to face the dark blue- haired man.

The room is furnished with red velvet couches and dim lighting. A thick carpet brushes against her ankles, she can literally feel the softness through the thin soles of her worn out leather shoes. She clutches Prim to her side, her hand fastened to her waist, keeping her as close as possible.

The door shuts behind them as the Peacekeepers leave, and she can't stand the trapped feeling that washes over her. How can they allow something as cruel as this to happen?

The blonde man looks at her with venom in his eyes. She holds Prim tighter to her, stroking her hair, smoothing it slowly, not only to calm the sniffles that escape from her, but also to gain some control over her own heartbeat. The brown eyes stare back into hers and there's evident hatred in them. A lust for her blood to spill for taking something that belongs to him.

Except the blonde man doesn't realise that he's taking the one most precious thing in the world from her. Her eyes tighten, meeting his in a dominating manner. If he's going to intimidate her with death stares, she will fight him back. She will throw herself on fire. Anything for Prim to ensure her safety. If he wants her sister, he will have to fight her, to physically pluck her from her cold, dead fingers should the need arise.

She stares back at him with more intensity and it doesn't go unnoticed. There's tension drawn on his face, like a bull that's seen the colour red, before breaking the silence with roars that echo throughout the room.

"REALTOR FLICKERMAN! ANSWER ME! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! I'VE PURCHASED THIS ITEM AND I WANT IT NOW! IT'S LEGALLY BINDING AND FAIR!"

An item.

That's all Prim is to him, an item. A means to an end. An end that involves the massacre of her childhood so that some bastard brat can be created out of want and greed.

The blue- haired man known as Flickerman takes a seat behind a large oak table, settling into a luxurious leather chair.

"Mr. Mellark, please, take a se…"

"I WILL NOT TAKE A FUCKING SEAT!"

Another, taller man with startling blue eyes reaches out; his fingertips brushing the bicep of his partner. She notices the calm, soothing presence on his face.

"Car, please, be reasonable…Surely we can all come to some sort of agreement here"

"NO RYE, I WILL NOT BE FUCKING REASONABLE! I'VE WANTED A CHILD OF MT OWN FOR SO LONG AND NOW THAT I'VE FOUND THE PERFECT CANDIDATE, YOU WANT ME TO BE REASONABLE AND SETTLE FOR THIS COMMON PIECE OF TRASH?!"

He points a finger in the direction of the Everdeen sisters. She clutches Prim's shoulders a little tighter, feels her shaking at the sight of the blonde man's rage.

"Car, please, sit…"

"NO! I WANT HER! I DON'T WANT THIS OTHER SLUT! YOU HAD YOUR FUN WITH MAKING PEETA AND RUBBING HIM IN MY FACE FOR THE PAST EIGHTEEN YEARS! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL RYE? HAVING A CHILD THAT DOESN'T MEAN SHIT TO ME LIVING IN MY HOUSE?! YOU CALL ME SELFISH FOR WANTING A CHILD FOR SO LONG, JUST BECAUSE YOU BANGED THE FIRST SLUT THAT CAME YOUR WAY DOESN'T MEAN I WANT TO! I WANT HER!"

The words are on the tip of her mouth, wanting to emerge, but her lips only part with silence. What is it about the situation that tenses her oesophagus and parches her mouth dry of words?

It's only during the rage of this man, now known as Carberry that her eyes drift to the lonesome figure standing against the wall.

The boy stands in the crossfire between Carberry and Rye. He also has the same, startling blue coloured eyes, but they're clouded over in some dark haze.

His broad shoulders shift uncomfortably in the tight linen shirt; straining across his vast chest. His hair tumbles a little, various highlights of gold catch in the faint light of the room. He catches her sneakily glancing at him, his eyes, the startling blueness of them melting into her grey ones, says more than anything words could conjure up.

They stay like this for a minute or two; Prim wrapped in her chest, tears staining the light fabric of her shabby blue dress as the boy continues to look at her, both hurt and forgiveness burning into her.

Without saying anything, he's already asking her for understanding and compassion against the tyrannical nature of his father. He's asking her to forgive something that he can't possibly control; a force of nature that can't be subdued.

A tear leaks its way out of her eye, streaming down the flesh of her cheek. She bites back the rest in frustration, willing herself not to show him how they're getting to her, how Carberry with his arduous nature, wants to impregnate Prim, to strip her of her innocence, to draw her world into a blur of grey void of all colour, happiness and prospect for the future.

A child that he wants out of pure greed; a necessity, a fashion accessory for him to bitch about with the other merchants, an item.

An item.

The word echoes around the elder Everdeen's head again and again.

_An item….an item. The very word he used to describe Prim….Nothing more than a motive, a resource to fuel his ego….to make him feel better about being inadequate to the other merchants….a cure for an unfulfilled desire….a desire that can't be fulfilled by anything else….An item._

Then, the gravity of Carberry's words register in her head and she connects the dots he's given in the past moments.

The boy's name is Peeta.

The blue eyed man named Rye is his biological father.

Carberry, the smaller man, Rye's partner, thinks he's a bastard.

He thinks that he means nothing to him because he doesn't share his DNA.

Why should she feel sympathy for this boy, for this merchant whose parents want to corrupt Prim? Why should he yield some sort of power over her, some sort of magnetic pull that both comforts and assures her that he's not like his parents? No.

_You can't take that chance….no matter how different he appears to be….you can't trust him Katniss…_

She has to make this about Prim and ignore the fact that there might be one decent merchant that understands her plight.

Even if he could do anything, they could never be friends, let alone anything more. Being a merchant, Peeta would go on and follow the path of his parents, fall in love with some boy of his own age, inherit off the labour of the Seam inhabitants through exploitation, then pluck some little girl and make a smaller version of himself.

She'd promised herself that she'd look after Prim, put her through school, hunt to feed and support her and their mother until Prim became a doctor. But that life was always threatened by the constant fear of the Reapings and starvation when game was few and far between in the brutal cold of winter.

And love? No. Love didn't exist in this world, maybe in a parallel universe where cold and hunger and Reapings didn't exist. Even then, who would want her?

She didn't find any of the boys in the Seam attractive, had no interest in falling in love or even having the traditional toasting ceremony that accompanied marriage in the District. She'd remembered a conversation with Gale, her only friend that seemed to understand her, but even on that subject, he was completely indifferent to her….

_You know it's "illegal" for us to have actual relationships and families? Like boys and girls?_

_I'm never having kids….Are you?_

_I would, one day, if I didn't live here…_

_But you do live here…_

_But if I didn't…._

_But you do, Gale….And even though the rules aren't as strict in the Seam, there's only so many marriages that can happen without us all inter-breeding with each other…._

_Gale laughs at her, a throaty chuckle and a crease between his brow._

_We could do it Catnip, you and me…_

_Now it's Katniss' turn to laugh at her 19 year old friend's comment._

_Her and him….as hunting partner; they're lethal, a deadly team, but as anything else?..._

The night that had truly shown her the brutality and ultimate cruelness of love was illustrated through her father's death, leaving her mother to plunge into a continuous downward spiral.

Except for Prim; she was sure that love for someone else displayed weakness more than strength.

Love was the ultimate threat; because to love, to depend on someone enough, to trust and allow someone in, only proved the inevitable; that she would end up losing them eventually.

Prim abruptly tugs at her arm and Katniss snaps out of her trance, her eyes meeting Peeta's again, a curious worry poised in them.

"GIRL! WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!" Carberry barks, a violent shade of red flooding his face.

The elder Everdeen finds her voice for the first time since entering the room.

* * *

"NO! I WANT HER! I DON'T WANT THIS OTHER SLUT! YOU HAD YOUR FUN WITH MAKING PEETA AND RUBBING HIM IN MY FACE FOR THE PAST EIGHTEEN YEARS! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL RYE? HAVING A CHILD THAT DOESN'T MEAN SHIT TO ME LIVING IN MY HOUSE?! YOU CALL ME SELFISH FOR WANTING A CHILD FOR SO LONG, JUST BECAUSE YOU BANGED THE FIRST SLUT THAT CAME YOUR WAY DOESN'T MEAN I WANT TO! I WANT HER!"

His eyes meet hers for the first time and the very encounter of grey on blue is enough to send a tingle down his spine, the breath gathering in his chest at the thought that she's noticed him.

Peeta bites his lip in frustration, keeping the pent up hurt from Carberry's words behind his stony façade. He's always known that Carberry was jealous and resentful of Rye, but chose to love them both equally, not differencing between his biology and what he'd grown up with.

It was nature versus nurture, and Carberry had broken through the boundary between the two with his words. The hurt only registers when he replays the scene in his head, the words more menacing, more deadly, like bullets in the form of conversation, aiming to wound him.

"_Banged the first slut that came your way…"_

_What does that even mean? Did Dad have a relationship prior to his marriage to Carberry? Why did it sever? Who was the woman? What happened to her? Is she still alive? Does she know about him? How did it all happen?..._

_Who am I…?_

_Why did Dad leave her…?_

_Why haven't I thought of this before…?_

Why can't he conjure up the courage to speak? Why does he feel an extricable and unexplainable pull towards this girl?

''Katniss Everdeen'', she replies, her head pressed against her sister's yet her eyes stay on Carberry's, hardened and determined not to let him beat her into submission.

Peeta feels his stomach crumple again as he swallows the lump in his throat. This is her, the girl with the bow. The girl who he's admired from afar yet has never actually spoken to in his life. The girl that haunts his mind; forbidden fruit that he knows he can't touch, but longs for.

And fate has, in some cruel twist of fate has finally allowed them their paths to cross, but under the most unfortunate and horrid of ways.

"Daughter of Thom and Neassa?" asks Rye, his tone curious, yet spreading calmness throughout the cramped room.

"Now it all makes sense…..I remember your mother, she always was a bit of a wagon….Gave everything up, lost the family legacy, gave up a house, job, everything ….all to run off with a coalminer and live in the Seam, raising you two brats….. But then again, Mommy always was a rebel, wasn't she Katniss?" asks Carberry, his voice condescending and sarcastic, yet dangerous.

Peeta notices how her eyes stay on Carberry, unrelenting in the face of danger, as she continues to shield Prim away from the verbal attack, her hands knotting into the fabric of Prim's dress, the skin white and stretching over her knuckles. She stands taller, an unmoving, trembling figure, ready to strike out at any minute, yet continues to hold Prim, preventing herself from lashing out and striking.

"…The district bike, your mother, wasn't she Katniss? Didn't have much of a choice after daddy died in that 'accident', did she?...How many kiddies did she have… five, six? All your half brothers and sisters who will never know what a worthless, pathetic slut their mother was, or her two daughters who were whores themselves"

In that second, Peeta sees the sparks in her eyes, the embers set alight and roaring.

She releases Prim and lunges for Carberry; ferociously dragging him to the ground, the large thud of their collision makes the floorboards beneath the carpet groan. Katniss straddles Carberry's chest, pinning him to the ground effectively whilst her bony fists punch his face in repeatedly, blood and the chilling sounds of splintered bones fills the room.

This girl is on fire.

Rye and Peeta intervene, separating both parties away from the other.

Katniss fights in his arms, hair splayed out of the neat, elaborate plait and teeth bared. He holds her wrists tighter, backing them away into the corner with Prim.

"Ssh…Katniss, ssh" he whispers, the first interaction that they've ever had, and he's pulling her from his father's bloodied body, ducking his mouth down to her ear lobe, both excited and intimidated by this beautiful, courageous woman.

She would fight for anything, anyone she loves, with reckless abandon and without second thought; her head flinging back into his shoulder, trying to disentangle herself from Peeta's grip that has her rooted to the spot.

"Katniss….please, I won't hurt you….I promise", Peeta's thumbs rub the skin of her wrists, pressing soothing circles into the prominent veins. When he feels the strain leaving her body, he lets her go, slowly, his fingers drawing, savouring the last touches of her skin, the last warmth of her back against his chest, seeping through the thin fabric.

His breath catches in his throat as she spins around, facing him, her eyes have quieted, the raging embers have dulled, her breathing calmed, but her stare is now fixed on the boy in front of her.

The boy with the startling blue eyes.

For what seems like an endless moment, the girl with the bow and the boy with blue eyes notice each other, a deep, tantalizingly rich moment that makes a blush creep on his face.

_Does she know that I'm different…that I don't want this for her, for Prim, for any of the Seam girls, or any girls in the future….? Why would she? All the merchants have ever done for the Seam has exploited the men to work in the mines and doing mediocre jobs for little or nothing….even laying claim to the women's wombs to create the next generation of little bastards that will run the system?_

_Why would she think me any different to anyone else? I've held her back from beating Carberry to a messy pulp, she probably thinks I'm no better than him….And yet, I know how it's all flawed. I see through the cracks, the imperfections, the cruelty…._

_Can she see that in my eyes? Can she tell that I'm not like them, vain and self-centred?_

_Katniss…Katniss, can't you see it in my eyes….?_

Her fingers faintly brush his knuckle before a heavy, laboured cackle is heard from across the room and their eyes separate.

"That's it girl, you keep on defying me. It'll only make even keener to use her. And then, after I'm done with her and I've gotten what I want, I'll make sure that every year she's reaped…. Every year, she'll carry a child….that is…if it doesn't kill her first…"

Peeta's eyes bulge as he witnesses his father's outburst, his hand brushes hers briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through his fingertips.

Carberry grins a macabre, half- smile in a cushioned armchair, Rye hovering over him, his split lip and already bruised jaw, illuminated in the dim light of the room.

"Enough… Mr Mellark, I'm afraid that if you continue to act in this manner, to the possible surrogate of your future child, I strongly recommend that you stay on the right side of me. I can have you deferred from attending the Reapings and even put you under sanction if I feel that you and your partner are hostile or even neglectful to the surrogate. It compromises your chances of even having a surrogate and the possibility of having a child at all….Have I made myself clear?" the authoritative tone of Caesar calms the room to silence, yet the tension of unfinished business still lingers in the air as his eyes flicker from Katniss to the slumped figure on the opposite side of the room.

The Realtor produces a small machine from the dark oak desk. A thermometer runs the length of it, yet at the bottom, there appears to be a spike and a carved out portion of wood, where filter paper replaces bark.

"Come here Katniss…" says Caesar, his tone indifferent.

"What is this?" she asks, her forehead rising, eyebrows knitting together with caution.

"It's a fertility reader. It will give us a reading of Katniss' blood cells, any history of hereditary diseases, the possibility of specific genes, hair colour, eye colour, temperament and so forth….We'll compare her sample to that of her sister's and if there's a similar link between the two, then I'm afraid Carberry, there's no rules against volunteering on another's behalf….Not that it's ever happened before either….."

Carberry doesn't say anything; he just stays slumped in the armchair, Rye's large hand resting squarely on his shoulder.

Katniss glances at Peeta, for some strange reason, she feels as if he might not be completely inhumane and cruel unlike the others.

Stepping forward, she offers her finger to Caesar, who pricks it with the spike at the end as scarlet droplets stain the blotting paper beneath, before seemingly disappearing from sight.

"Relax dear, it's meant to disappear….see how the barometer has liquid within it now? Your blood is being tested for diseases. Unfortunately, this model is out of date, compared to the latest technologies in the Capitol, but it is still reliable when detecting disease. For all the other issues previously mentioned, the electronic calculator here…" he lifts the device up, showing her the extended electrical component at the back, before settling it back down on the desk, "… will determine your genetic variations and possibilities"

She watches the blood move through the glass of the barometer, her eyes dwindling on the tiny amount of liquid as it moves up before disappearing completely from sight again.

He can practically feel her heart beat, hear the blood rushing to her ears, swelling the minutes and seconds until the faint beep of the reader registers and a light piece of paper is omitted from a slot at the end.

_This paper…Her life, her sister's life all depends upon a piece of paper…._

He doesn't know what to wish for.

_If Katniss isn't a good match, Prim will pay, not only for the outburst at the Reaping, but also for her bigger sister's attack on Carberry, who will keep his promise of ensuring that every year Prim will deteriorate into nothing…. A corpse, a spectre of her former self._

_But if Katniss is a good match, and if Rye and Carberry agree, who will look after little Prim and Neassa, the two people in the world that depend upon her, rely on her for survival will surely die without her hunting…and even the meagre subsidy that Carberry will pay will hardly sustain them for the entire nine months, especially if she's living with us from the time of insemination…._

Caesar raises the paper to read, his eyebrows accentuate as his eyes scan the paper, his mouth falling at the end result.

It's bad news either way for the Everdeen sisters.

Caesar opens his mouth to speak cautiously, Carberry's eyes glaring in the direction of the Realtor, hungry to know the outcome, like a wolf chasing after a lamb.

"Impossible….I haven't seen this in so long…..it can't be…."

"What Realtor?! What?!" cries Carberry, his hand nursing his mangled jaw, blood caked beneath his manicured talons.

Caesar takes a deep breath.

Peeta's heart skips a beat.

"She's….she's barren….She's unable to …." The Realtor's eyes diminish into darkness, attempting to hide his emotions from the outcome. As mediator in this dispute, his job is to be objective and have no bias against either party.

"NO!" screams Katniss, her legs darting her towards Prim, shielding her from the rest of the room, as he watches Carberry snarl.

Peacekeepers burst through the doorway, severing the connection of limbs from the little Everdeen and her bigger sister. Melancholy rushes through Katniss…. The night of her father's death comes back as she pounds her bony fists into the shoulders of the two Peacekeepers, ineffective.

"PRIM! PRIM!I LOVE YOU PRIM!" she screams, until her voice gets hoarse as they drag her from the secret room and down a corridor, the last sight of her sister is one of terror as Carberry glides over to rest a hand on her little shoulder.

Everything turns to black.

* * *

_Where am I? _

_Prim. Where is she?_

"PRIM!" her eyes fly open, sore and probably bruised.

They had beaten her lightly for her insolence in the Reaping hall and had thrown her in a room with grey walls, a thin night shirt covering her body. Her vision is blurry, but she can make out the faint tinge of gold in the distance as it moves towards her bed.

Peeta.

_He isn't like them…He came for me….Why?_

She recalls how he had restrained her, but it wasn't constricting. How his fingers had brushed over her stained, bloodied knuckles after she had lunged for Carberry. How in staring into those startling blue eyes that he was uncomfortable and hurt about the situation.

Peeta had a soul. Peeta would look after Prim, for her, even if they hadn't discussed it, she knew he would.

The tinge of gold comes nearer and nearer, her vision clearing.

Blonde hair, but not the startling blue eyes of Peeta.

No.

Brown eyes.

Brown eyes filled with venom. Brown eyes like a snake.

Carberry.

"I told you I'd win….and I will come good on my promise earlier, Katniss….She will carry more and more, year after year, until she ends up like Neassa….Funny isn't it? Like mother, like daughter…." He snarls, a twisted smile curling on his face before cackling.

She waits, blowing the hair out of her eyes quickly before mustering up phlegm from her oesophagus.

The liquid shoots from her mouth and hits Carberry squarely between the eyes, blinding him effectively.

Then in a low, dangerous tone, she whispers;

"If you want to make sure that child survives, you won't touch her…."

"And why is that? What could you possibly do once she's impregnated? She'll stay at my home for nine months; all contact from you will be severed…."

She gargles, her bloodied lip and the phlegm dripping down the side of her face as a strained laugh escapes her lips.

"What's so funny?"

"You are old man."

Maybe she can call his bluff, use something as leverage in order to protect Prim now that she's unable to take her place as surrogate.

"Go ahead, little slut… oh well, you can't really qualify as that….you can't really qualify as a woman either….but go ahead, enlighten me…."

Peeta.

She can use him now as ammunition for a better deal, as propaganda for Carberry to fear, should harm come his way.

"I'm sure your son can fill you in…"

Carberry double blinks at her, the foundations of rage building on his forehead.

"My son?"

"Yes…well, no actually, not your son….you don't have an actual son, do you Carberry? All you have are ideals and notions of grandeur….do you really think that Peeta…. It is Peeta, isn't it? Wouldn't it be absolutely awful if poor, unfortunate Peeta was walking home one day and disappeared mysteriously, never to be seen again?..."

Her tone is condescending, her speech slurred from the blood and saliva of her mouth. The man watches on at the girl with the venom returning in his irises.

"If you touch him…"

"Who me?!"

She replies innocently, a high pitch twinge in her voice.

"Oh no, it would be an awful trick of fate…. Poor boy stumbles off past his guarded, secure life in the town for the wild rush of the Seam, with its dense forest and endless predators, how long do you think that darling Peeta would survive? An hour? Eight hours? A day if he's lucky?...He wouldn't be the first boy to wander off into the unknown….in search of something new…"

He leans further into her face, his breath colliding with hers, dangerously close.

"If you even contemplate on touching my son, I can assure you that I will make everyday a living hell for your sister….You know how biology traditionally works, don't you, Katniss?"

She doesn't know the full complexities, but her mother had been fortunate enough when she was thirteen to fill her in on the basics of reproduction.

Carberry produces what appears to be a long, syringe like object, but wider and made of plastic.

"You see, traditionally, with the surrogates, this…" he holds up the object for her to see "…is used. It generally works rather well….but before this technology, the prospective fathers and sperm donors had to physically mate with the surrogates in order to conceive a child…. Now, your sister is in the insemination clinic at this very moment….the chances of her conceiving on the first go are….shall we say ….limited"

Her heart drops like a stone.

_Don't, don't you dare say what I think you're going to…_

"For a Seam slut, you're not dumb; I'll give you that, Everdeen. You know exactly what I'm getting at…and just in case you don't, here's it for you, in black and white…. I will fuck your sister every, single day if you try and touch my son….You may be thinking of my fidelity to Rye or even my conduct and go squealing to Flickerman….I can assure you that if you do such things, I will make your darling little lamb of a sister scream and cry every single day for nine months….Do you understand?

Of course she understands.

There's never a second thought for safety when it concerns her sister.

"Do we have an agreement?...Stay away from Peeta or else Prim will pay dearly for your transgression…It's in your hands…"

Of course it's in her hands. The merchants have never justified the brutality of the Reapings; they merely follow the orders of the Capitol. Of course it's not their fault that hundreds, if not thousands of underage girls and women are culled to produce new offspring for the same sex couples.

His hand rises up to meet hers and the contact is so vile that it barely lasts for a second.

Carberry grins, wicked and deadly at her.

Katniss glares at him, her teeth latching onto her bottom lip, a steady flow of blood covering her tongue with a metallic tang.

He leaves the room, smiling icily at her, rooting her to the hospital bed.

She will murder that son of a bitch.

Soon.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this story is weird, it's unusual. But please just take it for what it as, one step at a time and trust me enough to clear up anything that seems off or strange. I have it all worked out, and an amazing Beta who works her ass off, even when she's sick Thank you and please review!


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